


Dog Tags Tagged

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [77]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Age Play, Animal Attack, Episode: s05e13 Dog Tags, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Injury, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, Worried Jethro Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: Post-episode Season 5 Episode 13: Dog Tags. What happens the night after the case ends and everyone goes to decompress at Ducky's?





	Dog Tags Tagged

Timmy could feel something off in the air. He didn't know what it was, aside from being little, but he knew something was wrong when he was walking through the same backyard he had been not even the day before. This must be a dream, he thought to himself idly. Okay, I can deal with a dream.

Approaching the back door of the house, he could hear loud rock music blasting inside, and below that, a faint rumbling noise that sounded familiar and made the hair on his neck stand upright. But he couldn't place the sound. So he played the good little soldier, the role he was used to working in no matter the circumstances. He approached the door; one step, two steps. The front door had been kicked in judging by the thump near the front of the house, and the rumble became a growl which came closer and closer until Timmy realized. No no no! Not the dog, not again! he thought desperately.

But the dog charged anyway, teeth sinking into his arm, and he screamed out in pain. The feeling was near overwhelming, or so he thought. Instead of continuing to latch onto Timmy's arm, the dog found a way around the thrashing blocks, and lunged toward his neck--Timmy bolted upright under his blankets, gasping for breath and shaking so hard he could feel more than hear his teeth chattering.

"He's awake now, right?" a nervous voice asked from his right.

"I think so," an uncertain reply came from his left. "Hey, Timmy? You okay?"

Something moved toward his face and Timmy shot backward, head slamming against the wall and starting his breathing up double time. No, he wasn't going to be attacked again. Not again, not again!

The thing stopped moving and Timmy just barely recognized it as a hand, rather than a snapping maw intent on crushing his neck. He wanted Papa really, really badly.

More voices started murmuring around the room, and Timmy only caught snatches of them. "Abigail, do you have any idea-"

"-No, why would he-"

"-Shaking rather hard, is he not? Perhaps we should-"

"-Hey, Timmy, can you focus on me please? You're scaring-"

"-Started screaming bloody murder, Uncle Gibbs, wouldn't wake up..."

"All right, thanks. I think I know how to help."

There was a soft snapping in front of Timmy's face, and he initially flinched away, until he realized it wasn't going to hurt him. He tried to recompose the remains of his good little soldier facade he had put up ever since that dog attack, but it was just too much right now. He couldn't do it. And a high-pitched whine came out of his throat, followed by a sob, followed by a complete breakdown.

Arms were wrapping around him, reassuring him, telling him he was okay, saying everything someone was supposed to say to calm someone else down. Timmy didn't think it was going to work this time. He had convinced Abby to take the dog that had...well. He had convinced her to take the dog to a trusted adoption center, rather than have him take the thing, but she had kicked up a bit of a fuss and had cried earlier that night about it. Much as Timmy felt horrible about it, though, he didn't feel he could take the dog back to his apartment and feel safe. He just couldn't. Especially not with dreams like this one.

Whatever words were being spoken were washing over Timmy's head; he was just curled in a ball, preoccupied with his humming. He didn't, couldn't care if it was too loud or not, he just wanted to calm down, and this was the only way he knew to keep off a panic attack that worked every time.

He was picked up, still in ball state, and carried out of the room, and instead of six voices now he only heard two. "Do you have his medicine downstairs, Duck? I think it's about time for his next dose, anyway."

There was a weary sigh, and a resigned, "Yes, it's in the kitchen. I suppose we should go down there and make sure young Timothy is not permanently scarred."

Though Timmy could hum in his position, he couldn't rock, and he didn't much like the fact that he was stuck in one place. He tried to rock even just a little, but couldn't do it. Apparently the person carrying him recognized that he was trying to do that, though, because he found himself being rocked shortly after. At least, until they had walked into Uncle Ducky's kitchen, at which point he found himself being set on the island in the middle of the room. Timmy winced as the cold of the laminate bit at him through his pants, but he was at least a little more aware of what was going on. Papa was standing there, looking him over, and Uncle Ducky was shuffling around behind him, probably looking for his medicine.

"You okay, kiddo?" Papa asked.

With a small, unconvincing smile, Timmy nodded. "Jus' a nightmare, Papa. Promise."

"Yeah? Your 'just a nightmare' woke up the entire household either by your screaming or those woken up by the screams waking up the others for help," Papa said. "So I don't quite believe that claim."

Timmy swallowed and shrugged. "Sorry. But...but it really was jus' a nightmare. It was jus' a badder one than normal. It wasn' like anyone was actually tryin' to hurt me or the others, you know? It's okay."

Papa worked his jaw and Timmy felt his stomach sink. He had started to move away from associating that motion meaning getting hit or yelled at, and toward being scolded or explained to in simple terms why something was "not okay." Didn't mean he liked the end result any better this way, though.

"Timmy, your well-being plays a part, a huge part, in whether or not a situation is 'okay.' Inside your well-being, your mental health plays a big part on how you're feeling. Nightmares usually don't mean that you're mentally 'okay.' If you're not okay mentally, then you're not okay overall, which means this situation is not okay. Can you tell me what happened in your nightmare?"

Uncle Ducky tapped Papa on the shoulder with a pill bottle and his eyebrows raised. Timmy didn't say anything, and Papa sighed. "All right, then. But you should take your medication kiddo. Do your shoulder and arm hurt?"

Timmy nodded. Right now they were hurting lots.

Papa opened the pill bottle and poured one into his hand, passing it to Timmy. Timmy dry swallowed it with a small amount of difficulty and the brief worry that he was going to choke on it. Papa gently rubbed Timmy's uninjured arm. "Kiddo, do you want to sit in Uncle Ducky's living room for a little bit? At least until the medication kicks in?"

Timmy shrugged. He supposed it was better than sitting in the bedroom he had been sleeping in, finding it impossible to sleep any more for the rest of the night. "Sure," he mumbled.

Papa picked him up and turned to Uncle Ducky. "I'm sorry for leaving you to get everyone else to calm down," he said.

Uncle Ducky waved a hand. "Oh, don't fret over it, Jethro. Right now your first priority should be your little one."

Papa nodded and carried Tim into the living room, where he got settled on the couch and Timmy shifted so he was leaning sideways against Papa's chest. "So what happened in your nightmare, kiddo?"

"Just what happened yesterday," Timmy said. "'Cept the dog went for my neck instead of just my arm."

Papa rubbed Timmy's arm and Timmy closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down at least enough to even feel tired. "Must have been really scary," Papa said.

"Yeah," Timmy quietly agreed. "I thought I was gonna die."

Papa sighed and kept rubbing Timmy's arm. "It was just a dream, kiddo. The dog couldn't hurt you."

"I wasn't talking 'bout the dream," Timmy said softly.

Papa went still, resting his chin on Timmy's head. "You know we wouldn't have let that happen, right?" he asked. "We wouldn't have let you die."

"You didn' even know there was a problem 'til I shot him," Timmy said. "An' then Tony kept talking 'bout rabies, and dog attacks, and Abby kept blaming me for shooting the dog, an'...it's just. Too much."

Papa looked down at Timmy and Timmy couldn't meet his eyes. He knew that he wasn't as good at the job as DiNozzo or Abby, and if he couldn't work with them, he would be the one sent away. He didn't want to get sent away, but he figured that pretty much summed up all his relationships on the team. Useful, but not vital. Disposable, if needed.

"Timmy," Papa said slowly. "What has your therapist been saying?"

Timmy wrinkled his nose. "A lot of stuff about Daddy making me believe things that aren't true. I think she's lying."

Papa hummed. "Well, adults are fallible kid, but we can talk about that in a bit. Anything about the team and how you work with us?"

"She says I'm probably more helpful than I think I am," Timmy said softly. "Which is definitely a lie. I can barely even work with my arm right now."

"I see," Papa said. "She's smarter than me by a long shot, it took me too long to pick up on your insecurities, kid, and you're still impressive at hiding them."

Timmy huffed. "I don' like her pointing things out about me that make me feel bad."

"Why would her telling you that you're helpful make you feel bad?" Papa asked.

"Because it's a lie," Timmy said, shaking his head. "And it jus' reminds me about the truth."

Papa sighed, and Timmy wished, not for the first time, that he didn't have to deal with all these problems. But the only way he could see that happening was if he never left Norfolk, and he loved being with the team. So he didn't wish for that too hard. "Kiddo, I want you to listen to me. You don't have to believe me, not right away, but I want you to understand something."

"Mm-hm?" Timmy hummed in acknowledgment.

"You're very important to me, and the team," Papa said softly. "If you hadn't checked in, we would have checked the back to make sure you were okay. We wouldn't have left you to die. And if there's ever a problem between you and the others, I won't send anyone away as an attempt to 'fix' things. We care about you too much. We're family, and family looks out for each other."

Timmy made a slightly skeptical noise and Papa sighed again. "Like I said, kid, you don't have to believe me right away. But I want you to think that over for me, okay? Look for what makes you think it's a lie, instead of just listening to the voice that tells you it is."

"Why?" Timmy asked. Whenever he asked that as a kid the first time around, he'd get snarled at, but Papa usually encouraged him to ask questions. Still, looking for answers on what he was told usually got him in trouble, didn't Papa know that?

"You're an investigator, kid. Why don't you tell me why you think I'd want you to investigate?" Papa rubbed Timmy's back.

Timmy's brows furrowed. "Well, I like answers..." he said slowly. "...And I like logic too. When I have logic for an answer, I'm more likely to believe it."

Papa nodded. "That's good reasoning, Timmy. That's exactly why I want you to investigate."

"But...but the voice that tells me it's a lie gives me reasons. I'm not as important as Tony or Abby. I don't do as good a job as they do," Timmy insisted. "I have reasons for knowing it's a lie."

Papa frowned. "But where do you get the idea that you're not as important, or don't work as hard and do as good a job as they do?"

Timmy looked down. "That's just...it's facts, Papa. I'm not as good."

"Facts from who?" Papa pressed.

Timmy mumbled something that resembled, "My dad," and ducked his head.

"This just goes back to the fact that adults are fallible, kid. Not every adult knows everything, and even if they say something's a fact they could be wrong," Papa explained.

Timmy grimaced and shook his head. He wasn't to question adults, he knew that. Apparently no one had told Papa that was something kids weren't supposed to do.

Papa looked ready to argue, but there was creaking at the entrance of the room. Papa looked over, and Timmy hid in the crook of Papa's neck, knowing already who would be there. "Something you need, Abby?"

"I wanted to...apologize, to Timmy," she said softly.

Timmy turned to glance at her, surprised.

When she saw she had gotten his attention, she shifted on her feet. "I'm really sorry, Timmy. I shouldn't have tried to force you to take the dog. I know he hurt you, but I didn't think about how you might feel about that. I also shouldn't have blamed you for defending yourself. Apparently attack dogs know what they're doing and they can hurt you a lot. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I did. And for that, I'm sorry."

Timmy nodded. "It's okay," he said softly. "Just...just be careful if there's a next time, okay?"

"Cross my heart," Abby said, making an 'x' over her chest.

Timmy yawned and Papa stood, holding Timmy in his arms. "Come on, kids, both of you need sleep."

No protest came from Timmy, who was too tired to even whine that he wanted to stay up, not that he wanted to stay up anyway. The pain meds were doing their job and he was almost lost in a drug-induced haze by the time Papa got up the stairs. He was just aware enough to smile as Gibbs kissed his forehead goodnight, and settle down, hoping that the next day, he wouldn't have to deal with more dogs.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to say something here, but I'm not sure what...if you're reading this, know that I love you for continuing to read this series with me, and that there should be more to come next month at the latest! <3


End file.
